Changing in Public, and Other Short Tales
by Dream Painter
Summary: E/O CHALLENGE :: A collection of drabbles inspired by a given prompt word or phrase. There'll be humor, there'll be angst, and hopefully... there'll be a good story or two. Rated T just as a precaution.
1. Changing in Public

_A/N: A part of the thrilling drabble challenge set forth by the talented Enkidu07 and Onyx Moonbeam, which is also participated in by... a bunch of people I'm still in the process of hunting dow--erm, getting acquainted with. See Enkidu's or Onyx's tales to find them for yourself!_

_All I can say for this one, is blame the rabid dust rabbit!  
_

Prompt word: Skin

Word count: 98! (yay, me!)

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**Changing in Public**

Skin.

If anyone asked Sam what he hated most, at that moment, the answer was skin.

"What I wanna know," said Dean, face contorted in disgust, "is why this dude is changing on a frickin' public beach."

Sam rose from studying the abandoned skin. "No kidding," he agreed. "It adds a whole new meaning to the term 'clothing optional.'" The two brothers gazed dubiously at the sign which declared their current location a 'nude beach.'

"Yeah..." Dean coughed. "Now, can we get outta here before the wrinkly old guys come back?"

Sam's eyebrows shot up in alarm. "Let's."

---

_A/N: *jumps up and down* Review! Review! ... *bats eyelashes* PLEASE?!_


	2. Word Association

_A/N: Borrowing the brilliant idea of others participating in this challenge, I have elected to post all my drabbles as 'chapters' of the same 'story'. This challenge was started, and is moderated, by Enkidu07 and Onyx Moonbeam. The only rule is that each story is to be 100 words (though, personally, I am not about to quibble over a word or two). For other participants, see the list posted in Enkidu's or Onyx Moonbeam's stories._

Prompt word: Combustible

Word count: 100

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**Word Association**

**-**

Hours of driving across sparsely populated flatland had taken its toll, causing the Winchester boys to resort to a childhood game in an attempt to alleviate their boredom. Sam would name something and Dean would say the first word or phrase that came to mind.

"Christmas," said Sam.

"Cannibalistic pagan gods," replied Dean with a grimace.

"Gross," Sam agreed. "Tree."

"Combustible."

Sam raised his eyebrows. "'Combustible'?"

"Yeah. Combustible."

"You said 'combustible' for 'barn'."

"Dude. They're full of hay. Hay burns."

"And 'doll'?"

"Dolls are combustible," Dean reasoned. "At least their hair is."

"Pyro," Sam accused.

Dean grinned. "Saltin' bones, baby!"

---

End.


	3. Clarity

_A/N: Sorry this is a bit late--I had work._

Prompt: All of a sudden

Word Count: 100

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**Clarity**

It happened abruptly.

They had separated in order to complete the job—Sam making sure the victim stayed safe while Dean went to put an end to the madness once and for all. It was practically over.

Then the girl said something that made his blood run cold. He asked her to repeat herself to make sure he had heard correctly. He had.

All of a sudden, in a moment of blinding, transcendent clarity, Sam realized he had made a terrible mistake... and if he didn't catch up to his brother soon, Dean would die for it.

He started running.

---


	4. Hangover Surprise

_A/N: Sorry it's late—my research paper had to come first._

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Prompt: Belly

Word Count: 100

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Dean woke disoriented, head pounding. Hangovers sucked. A glance confirmed that Sam was still in bed. Getting up, he stumbled clumsily into the bathroom.

Stopping briefly at the sink, he splashed water on his face before turning on the shower and tugging his shirt off over his head. Something caught his attention in the mirror. He stepped closer to get a better look. There, on his belly, was a brightly colored butterfly.

"What _the_ **HELL**?"

Sam buried his face in the pillow to stifle his laughter, wondering just how long it would take Dean to realize the tattoo was temporary.

-

End.

-


	5. Rhymes

_A/N: Sorry it's late. Work again._

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Prompt: Keen

Word Count: 100

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"Dad," Sam said from the backseat as the Impala rolled down the highway. "Mad. Sad. Glad..."

"Oh, my god," Dean groaned. His brother had recently developed a fetish for rhyming and it was driving him insane. He's been at it for days.

"Dean. Mean. Green. Keen—"

"That's not even a word," Dean interrupted crankily.

"Yes, it is," Sam responded automatically.

"Is not! What does it mean, then?"

"'Sharp or intense'."

"Sammy's right," John intervened. "Keen is a word."

Dean looked at his father in surprise before turning to glare at his younger sibling. "Geek," he accused.

Sam brightened. "Meek. Bleak..."

-

End.


	6. Casualties of War

_A/N: This is the story I originally started for the prompt 'belly', but as you can see, it is much too long. I decided I would stick it in as a bonus tale. I only now got around to getting it done.  
_

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Prompt: Belly

Word Count: 259

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Sam was prepared. No way would he be caught off-guard this time! He was ready and waiting...

The young warrior crouched in the corner behind the laundry basket where he could get a clear shot of the door. When his nemesis arrived, he would be struck down before he knew what happened. This battle would be Sam's victory—he just knew it.

Moments later, the door opened and the seven-year-old shot on sight.

"Hey, Sam, have—" Whatever John Winchester was about to ask of his son was entirely lost as he was suddenly soaked nose to navel with the super soaker Sammy had received for his birthday. His expression became unreadable and as Sam realized he had fired upon the wrong person, he froze in abject horror. _Dad was mad._ _Very mad!_

Then, John did the last thing Sammy expected. He burst into laughter, great, deep laughs that came straight from his belly and erupted from his mouth. "Da..d?" the child questioned in confusion, though the new expression only made the man laugh more.

"Come here, you!" John said, making a move towards him.

"No!" Sammy cried out with a giggle, darting past his father and dashing down the hall. John followed in pursuit and caught up with him a moment later.

"Now, I've gotcha," he declared, hoisting his son up over his shoulder.

"Dean, help!" Sammy wailed piteously between laughs. "He's gonna tickle me!"

Dean looked up from making his sandwich at the kitchen counter. The boy rolled his eyes. His family was weird.

-

End.

---

_A/N: Lemme know what you think!_


	7. Normal

_A/N: This drabble serves a duel purpose. In addition for being part of the challenge, it is also one of the fics requested by my best friend for Christmas._

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Prompt: Raw

Word Count: 100

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Dean hesitated. Sam looked so happy. Part of him didn't want to suddenly barge into his life again. Another part just wanted his brother back. He watched as Sam walked into a small diner where he was greeted by friends. They sat there, laughing and having a good time—how long had it been since Dean had seen Sam smile like that?

Raw emotion washed over him and Dean had to fight back the tears. He needed Sam's help to find dad, but he would approach him later. He'd let his brother be normal for just a few hours more...

-

End.


	8. Theater Going

_A/N: Due to lack of internet while I was home, I didn't write much. Now, I'm playing catch up.  
_

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Prompt: Local

Word count: 100

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**Theater Going**

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"Uh-oh."

"Sam. Tell me we did not just lose our only flashlight."

"Would've replaced the other one, but the local convenience store was sold out."

"So, now we're trapped in this creepy-ass theater with an angry spirit and no light to see anything?"

"Yep. That pretty much sums it up."

"Shit. Now, all we need is for the ghost t—"

_*~Smash!~* _**Thud.**

"Ow..."

"Dean! Are you alright?!"

"Ouch. Sam, what did I hit?"

"Hard to tell, but I think it was the popcorn machine."

"That's it. We've gotta gank this ghost—and starting immediately after, I'm never eating popcorn again!"

-

End.

-

_A/N: Reviews make writers happy. Happy writers write more--see a trend?_


	9. The Hunter

_A/N: Playing catch up...  
_

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Prompt: Flinch(ed)

Word Count: 100

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**The Hunter**

He was a hunter. It defined who he was. Over the years, he had traveled from state to state tracking down monsters, destroying evil.

Ever his work was conducted calmly, methodically; his research thorough, his facts checked and rechecked. Hunting had transformed him into a hardened shell of the warm and gentle man he had once been, and suited in this cold armor, he coldly performed his duty.

Except when it came to his boys.

Then, he acted.

He reacted--often with red hot fury.

No thinking was involved.

When it came to protecting his children, John Winchester didn't even flinch.

-

End.


	10. Wishes on Lashes

_A/N: Playing catch up from my previous absence._

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Prompt: Lash(ed/es/ing)

Word Count: 100

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**Wishes on Lashes**

_-_

_The older boy gingerly collected the eyelash from his brother's cheek, holding it out in front of the smaller child on an outstretched finger._

_"Make a wish, Sammy." Sam closed his eyes momentarily before opening them and blowing the lash away..._

-

"Leave the sick alone," Dean protested as his brother plucked an eyelash from his fevered cheek.

"Make a wish," Sam said.

"Oh, c'mon, Sammy, don't tell me—"

"It worked for me."

Dean studied him a moment, remembering that moment from their childhood. "Fine," he sighed. Then he wished for Sam's wish to continue— that somehow they'd always be close.

-

End.

-


	11. Scolded

_A/N: And a bonus!  
_

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Prompt: Lash(ed/es/ing)

Word Count: 100

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**Scolded**

-

The waitress from the diner they'd just relieved of its troublesome guest followed as they retreated to the Impala.

"I ain't tellin' ya again!" she scolded. "You boys _ever_ make a mess of MY diner again, you'll get a tongue-lashin' that'll keep your heads swimmin' inta next year, y'hear me? Don't you come back, now—I won't serve ya!"

She continued ranting as they drove off.

"Tongue-lashing," Dean muttered. "Dude, at least we got rid of the ghost!"

"Yeah, but we did make a mess..." Sam paled and looked back. "Dude. Speed up—I think that's her Ford!"

-

End.

-


	12. Wrong Purchase

_A/N: For once a tale of mine was perfectly 100 words before editing. I saw it as a sign.  
_

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Prompt: Thermometer

Word Count: 100

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**Wrong Purchase**

_-_

Dean entered the hotel room, closing the door behind him. Sam raised his fevered head to look at him.

"Did you get it?" he asked through dry lips.

"Yeah," Dean dug through the plastic sack he carried. "It's right here." He sat on the bed beside his sick brother and opened the package, holding the object out to the younger man. "Say, 'ah'."

Sam started to comply, but the item looked strange. He snatched it from Dean and looked at it before taking the package also. With a groan, he threw it at him.

"What?"

"Dude, that's a rectal thermometer."

-

End.


	13. Old Mill Worker

_A/N: I return!!! After a rather long leave, I have gotten back into writing. We'll see how consistent I am, though. At current, there are no plans to make up for the prompt words that I missed, but that may yet be coming. Depends on how bored... I mean, how busy I am during summer semester._

_Slightly delayed due to previous plans. Enjoy.  
_

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Prompt: Drag

Word Count: 100

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**Old Mill Worker**

_-_

The house was old and decrepit, its wooden exterior black with decay. Over the sunken porch, the roof sagged forebodingly low. The stench of mildew and tobacco was so strong that even the kerosene lamp seemed so oppressed that it offered little illumination. There, on a rusty pale, his beady eyes flitting about every few seconds, sat the old mill worker.

He took a long drag from his cigarette, its smoldering end casting an eerie glow upon his sallow features. "So," he spoke slowly, eying the two Winchester brothers, "you wanna know 'bout the old mill, do ya?"

-

End.


	14. Off Limits

_A/N: Playing catch up...  
_

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Prompt: Frame

Word Count: 100

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**Off-Limits**

_-_

Dean reluctantly dragged his gaze away from the woman's petite, yet voluptuous frame. She was a sight for sore eyes, like something from a very good dream. Fiery red hair brushed her shoulders like flaming silk, standing in stark contrast to the icy blue eyes set her flawless ivory features.

She was like poison, though – subtle, but deadly. Becoming involved with her would only mean trouble. Though human, she had a demon psyche, which made her all the more dangerous.

She smiled and his heart began hammering in his chest. _No_, he reminded himself sternly, _TJ is _entirely_ off-limits_.

-

End.


	15. Monster

_**A/N:** This is one I wrote forever ago that I found in my notebook. 'How long forever ago', you ask? Just look at the prompt!!!_

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Prompt: Wrench(ing)

Word Count: 100

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**Monster**

_-_

It's killing me, wrenching the heart from my chest. This looming bit of knowledge fills me with bitter shame and I often catch myself avoiding Dean's gaze. I can't bring myself to tell him.

All I ever wanted was a normal life – a family, a career – but now, all of that seems so far out of reach. What I would give to go back to the days of blissful ignorance, but it's too late. I can't forget.

And now, I am left to face this wretched question alone: '_If demon blood flows through my veins, what does that make me?'_

-

End.


	16. Envy

_**A/N:** Playing catch up..._

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Prompt: Chest

Word Count: 100

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**Envy**

_-_

Sam felt an odd twinge in his chest. As he looked on, the sensation became stronger. He knew what he had to do.

Four hours later, Dean stormed into the hotel room. "Sammy, what the _hell_?!??"

"Something wrong, Dean?" the 10-year-old asked innocently.

"Cut the crap – I know you're the one who wrote all that on Jenny's car!"

Sam blinked. "Wrote what?"

"That I... You _know_ what!" Dean exclaimed. "Now she won't talk to me!"

The younger Winchester ducked his head to hide a smirk. No one else could have his brother's attention.

"Damn it, Sam!!"

He wouldn't allow it.

-

End.

-

_**A/N:** Jenny was older, of course._


	17. A Single Sheet

_**A/N:** Playing catch up..._

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Prompt: Sheet

Word Count: 100

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**A Single Sheet**

_-_

It was just a single sheet of paper.

Even so, Sam Winchester was terrified to look at it.

Perhaps his fear would have seemed less irrational if it were cursed or something of the like. Maybe if it were a monster posing as an innocuous piece of paper...

Instead, it was probably the most important sheet of paper ever to be in his possession. One way or another, that single sheet would determine his fate: would he continue in the family business, or would he carve out his own future?

Swallowing nervously, Sam finally looked at the letter from Stanford.

-

End.


	18. Misadventure

_**A/N:** Happy birthday, Woodburner! Not sure if this really counts as "peril", per se, but Sammy's coming to the rescue._

_Sorry it's late – I had work._

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Prompt: Steady

Word Count: 100

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**Misadventure**

_-_

Dean swayed dangerously, but Sam was there to steady him.

"Why won'it stan' still?" the elder Winchester slurred irritably as the world made another twist around him. He squeezed his eyes shut, but still he felt like he was in a dryer set on tumble dry. "Sam."

The younger man looked over at his brother. "Yeah, Dean?"

"Wha' the hell's _wrong_ with me?"

"Remember that girl we met last night?"

"Charla?"

Sam nodded. "She drugged you."

"Oh."

"Can't say I didn't warn you."

Dean frowned. "Damn."

"Yeah," Sam agreed.

-

End.


	19. Vertiginous

_**A/N 1:** Playing catch up...  
_

_**A/N 2:** Happy belated birthday, PADavis. I assure you, if it weren't late, it wouldn't be a proper birthday greeting from me – ask any of my friends, I always somehow manage to miss people's birthdays. ^^_

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Prompt: Dry

Word Count: 100

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**Vertiginous**

_-_

Dean's throat was dry. _Like a desert, _he thought miserably, the breath he drew in burning his parched lips. He sat, the room doing a sickening twirl about him. Waiting for the furniture to settle back into its proper place, he stood up.

Sam had left him some broth and Gatorade in the small refrigerator. Dean took out the broth and sipped at it. He knew it tasted better warm, but since he couldn't taste anything, anyway, he figured it didn't matter. The wall began crawling counter-clockwise of its own accord, and Dean scrunched his eyes shut.

The flu sucked.

-

End.


	20. Misery

_**A/N 1:** Playing catch up..._

_**A/N 2:** Dear, dear Plat'n. It's possible you're all better by now, but this is for you, anyway. Love ya, dear._

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Prompt: Worn

Word Count: 100

-

**Misery**

_-_

Sam felt worn out. His head hurt and he ached. An army of angry red spots spread all over his body, bent on making his life a living hell.

How was he supposed to remember he'd never had the chickenpox? Furthermore, how was it possible that he'd never had them, but Dean had? _It's not fair.._. He shifted on his bed, whimpering subconsciously.

"You alright, Sammy?" Dean asked, coming to his side.

Sam looked up with miserable hazel eyes. " Dean, I hate this," he whispered.

"I know, Sam," his brother murmured, patting the back of his hand sympathetically. "I know."

-

End.

-

_**A/N**_**:** _Am I the only one whose word count on her word processor is off? Because, the number I counted and what it's giving are different. Danged technology.  
_


	21. Lethargy

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Prompt: Alert

Word Count: 100

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**Lethargy**

_-_

"Why didn't Bobby take Jimmi with him, again?" Sam asked, indicating the tri-colored border collie who lay at their feet.

"She doesn't like the hunter Bobby's working with," Dean answered distractedly, sharpening his knife.

"Probably for a good reason – she's a great judge of character."

The elder Winchester shrugged. "I dunno, Sam," he said. "She likes you."

Sam rolled his eyes. He stood up and Jimmi jerked her head around, instantly alert.

"Easy!" he told her. "I'm going to the bathroom." Jimmi let out a disappointed whine and laid her head back down on her paws.

_How dull, _she sighed.

-

End.

-

_**A/N**_**:** _I decided a while back that Bobby needed another dog. So, I gave him one.  
_


	22. House Guest

_**A/N:** Happy Birthday, Sensue! Heard you liked crossovers?_

_Bob (of the Dresden Files books) belongs to my hero Jim Butcher, though, if Mr. Butcher would like to give him to me, I do so think Bob is a barrel of fun._

_It's late because I had work...  
_

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Prompt: Passion

Word Count: 100

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**House Guest**

_-_

"Yes! O-oh, _yes_!" came a lusty cry as Dean exited the bathroom. "_That's_ showing some passion!" Sam had left the television on and it was now being thoroughly enjoyed by their 'guest'.

Crossing the room, Dean turned it off.

"Wh-what was that for?" the bleached human skull turned towards him, somehow managing to look incredulous.

"You're a _skull._"

Bob rolled his eye-lights. "_So_? Harry gets me erotic novels – the least you could do is let me watch porn. TVs never last long when he's around."

Dean dragged his hand across his face. _When on earth would they find this Harry?_

-

End.


	23. Coping

_**A/N: **So, the last time I participated in this challenge, oh... forever ago, I lived in Ohio. Ohio is EST. Now, I'm in Washington. WA is PST, of course. I'd forgotten the time disparity until I'd woken up. I'm a day sleeper, most days. So, by the time you add time difference and day sleeper to Daylight's Saving, I'd gotten 6:00. _

_That's my excuse for this being so late..._

_

* * *

_

Prompt: Skunk

Word Count: 100

Setting: Season 4

0o0

**Coping**

0o0**  
**

He wasn't coping very well.

Sam supposed that anyone else might have been fooled, but not him. He knew his brother too well. The false bravado just wasn't fooling him. Even if Dean didn't spend all his time drunker than a skunk, the smell of alcohol constantly lingered on him.

His time in Hell was really getting to him.

Sam stood to place a steadying grip on Dean's arm as he staggered into their motel room.

"Leggo, Sam," he slurred. "I'm fine."

"Of course you are, Dean." Sam helped him to his bed, anyway.

Dean wasn't coping well, at all.

0o0

End.


	24. Lay Activities

Prompt: Cozy

Word Count: 100

0o0

**Lay Activities**

0o0

"Well, this is cozy," Dean muttered sarcastically.

"I said I was sorry, Dean," Sam replied wearily. At present, they were both hogtied on the floor.

"Yeah? Well, I'm not... ready to forgive you, yet, Sammy," his brother retorted, working to escape his bonds. "Maybe... next time, you'll _listen... _when I say someone's a bit shady."

Sam didn't answer, shifting in an attempt to ease some of the pressure off his limbs as he pulled at his own ropes.

They worked in silence for a bit, before Dean let out an exasperated sigh. "Damn bitch... knows her way around a rope."

0o0

End.


	25. The Thing About Prank Wars

**A/N:**_ Happy birthday, Dizzo. ^^_

_

* * *

_

Prompt: Rub

Word Count: 100

0o0

**The Thing About Prank Wars**

0o0

Dean was pissed, jaw clenched and grip white-knuckled on the steering wheel. It was obvious he was making a conscious effort to not rub his forehead.

"I said I was sorry, Dean," Sam repeated, though a quaver of amusement colored his tone, compromising his sincerity.

"Don't even _talk_ to me," Dean growled. He shot Sam a glare, eyebrows drawn together – or rather, the reddened skin where his eyebrows had been before they were singed off were drawn together.

Sam couldn't help it. He laughed.

"Fuck you."

"Like I said – it always escalates," smirked Sam.

Dean reached over and smacked him.

0o0

End.


End file.
